My True Love Gave to Me
by thebarefootflapper
Summary: Sybil finds her Christmas present from Tom... And it's not what she was expecting. A Secret Santa fic for the wonderful Welsh Mama.


_**So this is my contribution to this year's S/T Secret Santa fic exchange and written for the wonderful Welsh Mama, whose talents never cease to amaze me and whom I can only ever hope to be even half as good as - you have a gift for storytelling and I hope that the next year brings many more offerings from your wonderful imagination. The prompt was "Sybil finds her Christmas present from Tom and it's not what she was expecting." I hope you like it. Llawen Nadolig a blwyddyn newydd dda!**_

* * *

Tom can feel the sweat dripping down his forehead and it has nothing to do with a default in the central heating. He watches Sybil as she peruses the various glass cabinets, smiling politely as yet another shop assistant asks if she needs any help and he has to laugh because he knows that it's one of her pet peeves.

"What's the matter with you?" she asks, noting that he's gone awfully quiet.

"Nothing's got any price tags on it?"

"And?"

"And Mam always said that if you have to ask, you can't afford."

Sybil laughs. "I'm not buying anything; I'm just looking for ideas."

"Yeah, but in Tiffany's," he points out. "Can't we just go to Debenhams instead? They've got a sale on."

She reaches out and squeezes one of his hands - an awkward gesture given that his arms are laden with carrier bags which he'd gallantly offered to carry. "Tom, this is Mary and Matthew's wedding," she says. "God knows it's taken them long enough. I just want to get them something special."

Her boyfriend sighs - he's doing incredibly well for himself at the moment work-wise but, having grown up in a somewhat frugal household, Tom is still rather weary about spending his hard earned wages. It's never really caused any major rows between the couples, but it is sometimes evident that they've had completely different upbringings when it comes to finances. Sybil is hardly frivolous, but then neither is she very good at saving. She's got better in the years that Tom has known her, but she's by no means perfect. He doesn't think that he would love her anywhere near as much if she were perfect.

She's Sybil, pure and simple.

And that's really all that matters at the end of the day.

_**-xxx-**_

They take the lift back down to the ground floor and to the room full of dazzling diamonds that even Sybil is powerless to resist.

"My interest was piqued young," she'd once said to him whilst reading an article about the auction of some of Elizabeth Taylor's finest jewels. "There's quite a collection amongst our family heirlooms."

She watches with a small smile of delight as a man about Tom's age picks out a stunning Tiffany set engagement ring, proudly proclaiming that it's the perfect one for his meticulously planned Christmas Day proposal.

"Someone's a very lucky lady," she says, quietly to Tom as they make their way and step through the door out onto a bustling Bond Street, the winter chill freezing right down to their bones after being cooped up inside for so long.

Tom can't help but wonder if this is some sort of subtle hint that she wants to get married - it's not something they've really talked about, but they've been together long enough for everyone to start asking when he's going to pop the question. It feels like only yesterday that they first met, though it's been just over five years - late one summer evening at Mary and Matthew's house warming party at the end of June to be precise...

_**-xxx-**_

_He steps outside into the garden for a cigarette, the kitchen overcrowded and stuffy and filled to the brim with people he'd had no real desire to speak to._

_ "Can I have one?" a raspy voice asks from somewhere in the darkness. He looks down and sees a pretty girl with dark hair perched on the stone steps that lead down to the lush green lawn, a half full bottle of Corona and her discarded heels by her side._

_ "Sure," he replies, taking his last one from the packet and holding it out to her. "Need a light?"_

_ The girl nods and gets to her feet with all the grace and elegance of a prima ballerina before expertly lighting the cigarette. She takes a long drag and then finally turns to look at him properly as she exhales. "I like large parties," she says, seemingly out of nowhere and with a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. "They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy."_

_ Tom's lips curl up into a smile as he flicks the ash from the end of his own cigarette. "Jordan Baker; The Great Gatsby."_

_ "You've read it?"_

_ "It's a favourite of mine."_

_ "And do you think she has a point?"_

_ Tom nods. "I do, as it goes," he replies. "I suppose that's the reason I came out here; in there, there are too many people trying to make small talk... it's awkward and I don't like it. If this were a small gathering of acquaintances, I'd be forced to stay put."_

_ "You're Tom, aren't you," she says, phrased not as a question but as an outright statement. "Matthew's friend from Cambridge. The writer."_

_ He suddenly recalls where they've met before - many years ago at a surprise birthday meal arranged by Matthew in honour of Mary's twenty-first and Tom remembers being sat next to Mary's then fifteen-year-old sister. They'd spent much of the evening talking about books and politics and his childhood growing up in Ireland. He'd thought her extraordinarily intelligent for her age - wise beyond her years as his Mam would say._

_ And then he'd never seen her again._

_ At least not until now._

_ He can vaguely recall her __telling him that, for a very long while, she had wanted to make a career out of her love of dancing, but that had been several years ago now though and a badly dislocated knee when she'd fallen from her horse had forced her to pursue a new dream - one of helping dancers like herself overcome injury and quite literally get back up on their feet, perhaps one day even pioneering new treatments for what would once have been potentially career ending injuries. The last Tom had heard, she was in her third year of studying medicine with an overall ambition to specialise in orthopaedic surgery, shunning the family tradition of Oxbridge in favour of Cardiff - a well respected medical school in a young and vibrant capital city which had certainly become a home from home over the years and one in which she'd quite obviously thrived._

_ "I remember you," Tom says with a smile. "We met at your sister's birthday years ago."_

_ "I didn't know if you would," she replies, taking another drag of her cigarette._

_ "You didn't smoke back then," says Tom. "Surely not good for a doctor."_

_ "We all have our vices... and I did, I was just better at hiding it."_

_ Tom laughs. "Well, it's good to see you again."_

_ "And you," Sybil agrees. "Is it true you're going to get published?"_

_ "I'm not sure," he replies. "I've been given an advance to write a book but, the trouble is, I'm not quite sure what to write about."_

_ "You will be... someday," Sybil replies with encouragement. "Your muse is out there, you just have to look for it." She stubs out her cigarette in the wall and tosses the butt into a nearby bush which she knows will probably make Mary go ballistic. "Anyway, I should go," she adds, bending down to retrieve her beer and shoes. "Mama will start looking for me soon and the last thing I want is to smell like an ashtray when she finally finds me." She holds out her hand to him, shaking his own with a grip that's both firm and gentle at the same time, that lingers a little longer than is probably necessary and makes them both feel... something._

_ The first sparks of an eternal flame._

_ Letting go of his hand, Sybil smiles at him one last time and spins around on the balls of her bare feet before heading back inside the house to rejoin the party._

_ Two days later, he adds her on Facebook._

_ Two weeks later, they're out on their first date._

_ Two years later and they've practically moved in together._

_ As it turns out, he hadn't had to look very far for his muse after all._

_**-xxx-**_

Predictably, Sybil's father had hit the roof at first, accusing Tom of abusing his connection and good favour with the family to seduce his youngest daughter behind their backs. Sybil, of course, had protested and found an unlikely ally in Matthew who was delighted that his best friend had fallen in love with a woman who made him as happy as Sybil did though it was something which had driven a wedge between he and Mary (who, siding with her father, had believed Tom to be too old for her and that she needed to focus on her studies rather than chasing boys). Sybil had wept for days, long believing herself to be the cause of the first of her sister and Matthew's many break-ups over the years. Of course, she was just being silly and a cunning plan cooked up by Tom to get the pair back together had earned him a place in the family's good books again and, more importantly, the blessing to properly court Sybil that he'd so long desired.

That had been years ago now and so much has happened in the interim to make those early rifts look like mere skirmishes compared to the emotional bloodbath that had come to pass, each of the Crawley sisters pitted against their other halves in bitter battles of love and lust which had almost spelled disaster on one or two occasions. Thankfully though, all that was in the past now and a better and brighter future dawned for all concerned.

Mary and Matthew were finally getting married.

Edith was expecting a baby.

And Tom and Sybil... well, they were just happy being Tom and Sybil.

They have one more place to visit before returning to her parents' house in Belgravia where they've been staying for the weekend. He watches her as she peruses the shelves of Waterstones in Piccadilly, the smell of books both old and new being one of her favourite things in the world. This girl, this woman, is the centre of his universe and he can't imagine what life would be like without her.

But then he thinks of the dreamy look on her face and the little sigh that had escaped her lips as she'd watched the man in Tiffany's picking out the engagement ring.

And, for the very first time in their relationship, he feels afraid.

It's not that he's afraid of commitment as such, but her grandmother had once famously proclaimed that marriage is a long business and he knows that it's all about getting the timing right.

He's just not sure that this is the right time.

His own parents had had a happy marriage (for the most part) and he'd grown up in a warm and loving household where there wasn't always much money but a guaranteed promise of finding someone to laugh with or a shoulder to cry on. He'd watched his mother fall into despair and then steadily pick herself back up again, piece by piece, after his father had died and that had been the thing that terrified him the most - to love another person so much that he'd only feel half himself without her. He'd made a vow to himself then, to take life as it came at him and just to see how they progressed...

It just seemed that things were starting to progress with Sybil a little too quickly for his liking.

Even though her arms are already laden with a complete set of beautifully bound Jane Austen books for his sister, Órlaith, Sybil somehow manages to pull another from the shelf - one which she's read thousands of times already but still makes her smile whenever she sees it.

Tom's book.

It had been published about a year or two ago now but there's still a great deal of hype around it, especially now that it was rumoured that a lavish television adaptation was in the works with the great and the good of British acting royalty and the bright young things of Hollywood already gagging for a part in what was set to become a modern classic.

Tom had never really intended to write of novel but, like many things in his life, it had sort of just... happened. Uncovering a few skeletons in his family closet provided just enough inspiration to get the creative juices flowing after he'd discovered that his great-grandfather had been a chauffeur for a wealthy English family around the start of the First World War. He'd fallen madly in love with the youngest daughter of the house and, over time, she had come to return his feelings, eventually agreeing to marry him. Tom's cross-class romance set against the backdrop of war and social change had captured the hearts of the nation and he had a good mind to start working on a very much in demand sequel, following the life of his grandmother (another woman whom he greatly loved and admired) during the Second World War and beyond.

"There's a pen in my bag," Sybil says quietly, opening the book past the first few pages. "Go on, I dare you."

"Dare me to do what?"

"Sign it."

Tom sighs - his agent had begged him to go out and do the press tour, signing books and doing interviews, but it just wasn't his thing. "Sybil..."

"Go on," she begs. "Think of what a nice surprise that will be for someone if they open it on Christmas Day and it's the only signed copy in existence."

"Then it'll be straight on EBay."

"Cynic," she chides. "Well, if you won't, then I will."

"It's not your book."

"No, but I'm in it... see." She points to the About the Author page upon which, sure enough, appears her name.

**Tom Branson was born in Dublin in 1981 and currently**

**lives in Cardiff with his girlfriend, Sybil, and Sybil's goldfish,**

**Trevor.**

"And here..."

**For Sybil,**

**To whose happiness I promise to devote**

**every waking minute.**

When the penniless chauffeur had confessed his love to his employer's daughter, it was the line that had made a million women swoon though the words had truly been meant for Sybil as a thank you for supporting him through the ups and downs of the writing process.

"Fine, I'll do it."

He's just finished making his mark on the page when a girl no older than about seventeen calls out to them from across the shop.

"Excuse me, Sir, you can't do that."

Sybil turns to look at the girl, flicking her dark curls over her shoulder as she does so. "No, but he can you see," she says with her brightest smile. "He's the author."

"Hi," Tom adds awkwardly, muffled on account of the pen held between his teeth as the shop assistant eyes him sceptically.

"I'm going to have to ask you both to make your purchases and leave."

It's only when she threatens to call for her manager that the pair do as they're told.

_**-xxx-**_

Laughing like a couple of naughty school children, they leave the shop and begin making their way back to her parent's house.

"I can't believe you made me do that," he laughs. "You're a bad influence."

"But you love me anyway."

"Of course I do."

"Give me some of those bags," she asks. "It's not fair that you've got them all."

"Is this one of your feminist things," he mocks in a damn near perfect impression of her father who can always be counted upon to make such comments in these situations.

Sybil giggles. "No, you idiot, it's one of those so I can hold your hand things."

_**-xxx-**_

They live in a charming flat on the second floor of the prestigious Castle Court on Westgate Street, a stone's throw away from the city centre overlooking Arms Park and the River Taff. It wasn't exactly cheap (even by Cardiff's surprisingly affordable standards), but it was home.

Sybil lies on the floor by the fire, propped up on her elbow as she writes out Christmas cards - being the one with the much neater handwriting, it's usually Tom's job but, this year, she's insisted.

"Here's the question though," she says, her feet perilously close to knocking over the Christmas tree. "Do we send one to Edith **and** Michael, or to each of them separately given that he's still away?"

"Do we have to send Michael one at all."

"Tom."

He doesn't miss the warning in her voice but he chooses to ignore it. "There's something about the man that I don't like... something about him that I don't trust." The situation with Edith and the latest man in her life was somewhat precarious at best - he was still technically married, embroiled in a very messy, very public divorce that often had him disappearing for weeks at a time as he tried to sort out his affairs. It was a couple of months ago that the bomb was dropped and Edith announced to the family that she was expecting, much to everyone's surprise (and, in some cases, abject horror).

"Well he makes her happy and it's not for use to question why," says Sybil. "I'll send them one together. I'm not sure of his address in Germany and we've probably missed the last post over there by now... I can't believe they'll have a baby by this time next year."

"Mary and Matthew might have one too."

"Maybe we will..." The words are out of her mouth before she even has the chance to think about what she's saying.

Tom looks up from his iPad, somewhat startled like a deer caught in the headlights. "Are... are you trying to tell me something?"

"What? Oh, God, no... I just... I don't know why I said it... why, do you want one?"

The question is asked with complete sincerity and Tom can't help but sigh as he holds out his hand to her. "Come here."

Sybil gets to her feet and moves to curl up in his lap, unable to resist the urge to run her fingers through his hair.

"I love you, okay," he says tenderly. "So much... but you know that I was brought up Catholic and, even though I disagree with a lot of the church's ideas, it's made me quite traditional in some respects. I want nothing more than to be the father of your children, our children, but just not until we're married."

Now Sybil's the stunned one. "Is this a proposal?"

Tom laughs. "No," he tells her, taking hold of her hand and running his thumb across her knuckles. "Not yet."

_**-xxx-**_

Many hours later, Sybil stands barefoot in their little kitchen, a mug of hot cherry and cinnamon flavoured tea clutched in her hands as she leans back against the worktop, unable to sleep on account of the many thoughts racing through her mind.

He's going to propose.

She's absolutely certain of it - he'd practically admitted that he's just waiting for the perfect moment and then there all the hints he's been dropping about how he's getting her something extra special for Christmas this year.

Not to mention that private conversation he'd had with her father after dinner that weekend in London.

Yes, she's convinced that he's going to ask her to marry him. Trouble is, she honestly hasn't given much thought to what she'll say when he does. A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she imagines what a life married to Tom would be like. They'd buy a house, a proper one with a big kitchen and a garden, maybe somewhere like Penarth or Cyncoed if they chose to stay here or perhaps they'd even give Ireland a try. She thinks that they might have three children - she's always like being one of three - and she can already picture two girls and a boy, all with his beautiful blue eyes and her sense of adventure, unwrapping Christmas presents with their cousins under the colossal tree in Downton's great hall.

And, in that moment, she knows that her answer could never be anything other than yes.

"Sybil," a tired voice croaks from the bedroom door. "You alright?"

She nods and puts her now empty mug into the sink to be washed with the other dishes come morning. "Fine," she replies. "Just thirsty." She moves towards him, standing on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his stubbled cheek. "I love you."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Positive... now come back to bed."

_**-xxx-**_

It's a week before Charismas, just days to go until Mary and Matthew's wedding and the last minute preparations are in full swing. Sybil has finished work for the holidays at long last and she, Mary, Edith and Mary's oldest friend, Anna, are having the final fittings done on their dresses. She's standing in front of the mirror, trying her best to keep still as the seamstress sticks pins in the hem of the silver grey gown.

"I didn't tell you, did I," Anna says as she hands her another glass of champagne. "Guess who I saw coming out of Tiffany's... with a bag."

"Who?"

"Tom."

Sybil chokes as she swallows a mouthful of champagne. "Tom? Are you sure?"

"Positive," Anna replies. "I waved, but I don't think he saw me."

"The idiot," she says quietly to herself.

"What?"

"This is going to sound crazy, but I think he's going to propose. I can't explain why... I just have this feeling. Stupid, I know..."

"It's not stupid," Mary smiles. "I thought the same about Matthew."

"I need to drop Michael a few subtle hints," Edith pipes up, happy for Sybil, but a tiny little bit jealous at the same time.

Mary arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow and looks at her sister over her shoulder. "Yes but, Edith darling, the first thing you need to do it very bluntly tell him that he has to get a divorce."

Edith doesn't reply - she learnt long ago that it's better to say nothing than admit that Mary's right.

"He said that he wants to start a family with me but not until we're married. He's just waiting for the perfect moment and told me that he's got me something really special for Christmas," she tells them. "Do you see the logic?"

Mary nods. "And why else would a man even half as in love as him go to Tiffany's at this time of year?"

_**-xxx-**_

It's Christmas Eve and the whole family has migrated north to the tiny village of Downton and Sybil's childhood home. Tom's been here numerous times since he and Sybil got together but, even now, he still feels as though he's stepping into a fairytale. The place is especially beautiful this year, what with the wedding only a day away now.

Tom is in the bathroom whilst Sybil sets about unpacking the rest of their things, having not really had a chance to do so when they'd first arrived. She's moving some of Tom's shirts into one of the empty drawers when something slips from between a couple of them and lands with a thud on the floor.

It's a box.

A very iconic turquoise green box.

The usual white ribbon has been replaced by a red one in a nice festive touch - it's so beautifully wrapped and, even though she knows that she should just put it back where she found it, her rebellious side just wants to open it and have a quick peek.

"What have you got there?" Tom asks as he steps out of the bathroom.

Sybil suddenly finds herself feeling incredibly flustered. "I... umm... I didn't go looking, I promise. It just... I know that you wanted to wait for the perfect moment, but none of that matters. Surely the only thing that does is my answer? And my answer... is yes."

Tom's reaction is far from the one that Sybil was hoping for - instead of elation, it's confusion written across his handsome face. "I don't follow."

"I found the ring, Tom," she replies, toying with the box in her hand. "And I'm saying yes... I will marry you."

Suddenly realising what's going on, Tom runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Shit, no... Sybil, I'm not going to propose."

"But I found this... it has my name on it."

Tom steps towards her and takes the box from her hands. "They're earrings," explains. "A gift from Matthew for being Mary's bridesmaid. All three of you have matching pairs... he forgot to get them and asked me to pick them up when I was in town..."

"That must have been when Anna saw you," she says. "God, I'm so embarrassed."

Tom chuckles and pulls her into a tight embrace and kisses the top of her head. "Don't be," he says. "But Anna said she saw me coming out of Tiffany's and so you though that meant I was going to propose? That's... that's quite an assumption."

Sybil sniffs, willing herself not to cry. "No, it wasn't just that," she replies. "It was lots of little subtle things."

"You're disappointed aren't you?"

"No."

"Sybil."

"I'm not, honestly," she says. "But I just can't help wonder, if it's not marriage or babies, what's the next step in our relationship?"

"A dog."

"Be serious, Tom."

"I am... but you've just gone and ruined my surprise."

"I don't get it."

"I bought you... us... a puppy."

Her eyes light up like a small child entering a room full of presents. "A puppy?"

Tom nods. "Want to see?" he asks, reaching for his phone from the pocket of his jeans and pulling up a picture of a chocolate labrador pup. "This... is Gatsby."

"You named him already?"

"I hope you don't mind, but it just seemed perfect. You quoted the book the first time we met... well, the first time we met properly. I was going to give you the nametag in a box tomorrow."

Sybil looks up at him and smiles. "I love him... I love you."

"That's what I was talking to your father about the last time we were staying with them in London. He knew a breeder, a really good one, and they'd have a litter ready for just after Christmas. We can go and pick him up on the way back to Cardiff."

"I can't wait," she smiles. "And I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions."

"As I said, you shouldn't be," says Tom. "If anything, I'm both flattered and honoured that you want to spend your life with me, but I just don't think we're quite there yet. You and I have always talked about having these amazing adventures and it terrifies me that, as soon as we decided to settle down, we'd forget all about them and then end up regretting the things that might have been. There's no rush, but maybe a year from now, I'll ask your father's permission, I'll get down on one knee with a ring and everything and ask you properly."

"And I'll say yes... I know I will."

"Then, for now, that's enough."

"Merry Christmas, Tom."

"Merry Christmas, love."

**_-xxx-_**

The bride is radiant and the groom looks as though all his birthdays and Christmases have come along at once as she glides down the aisle on her father's arm but, despite it all, the best man and the maid of honour only have eyes for each other. Sybil knows that Tom had been right in what he'd said - there really is no rush for them to get married and already they've started planning the trip of a lifetime to the southern hemisphere, touring round Australia, New Zealand and South Africa like they'd always dreamed of (though she's now worried whether or not they'll be able to take Gatsby with them, the pup not even officially theirs yet and already he's part of the family). It had taken Mary and Matthew more than ten years to make it to where they were today, exchanging vows in the little church in the picturesque village where they'd first met what feels like a lifetime ago, but they were happy. Edith has a complicated relationship with a man who's married to another woman, but she's happy. And that's all Sybil has ever wanted to be - she's madly in love with a kindred spirit, someone who truly is her other half, and they have a wonderful life together with so many years of adventure and discovery ahead of them...

And she knows that to be better and more valuable than any diamond.

Even one from Tiffany's.


End file.
